Seasons
by Cannibalistic Gypsy Girl
Summary: Women are like the seasons, always changing and never still. A 4 part series of vignettes where Ryan thinks about some of the women in his life. Second person narrative. Second season.
1. summer

Title: Seasons

rating:pg:13

Summary: Women are like the seasons, always changing and never still. A 4 part series of vignettes where Ryan thinks about some of the women in his life. Second person narrative

A.N. written during early season 2, so it's kind of dated.

Chapter one: Summer

Theresa is like a summer day . Sultry, hot, and vaguely uncomfortable. She's like laying next to a pool in the warm sun, and being too lazy to jump in. When she is angry her dark eyes burst into flames like tree branches at summer camp bonfires. Theresa was one minute warm and welcoming and the next, suffocating like a humid sauna.

She was your first. Your first best friend, your first kissing buddy, your first lover. . . She was the first girl you ever let yourself care about outside of your mother. She knew you. She knew you hated spiders, and was allergic to peanuts. She knew you loved your mom even though she hurt you. She had seen you beaten and bruised. She had seen you young and smiling in a Snoopy costume. She loved you, faults and all.

You had been in Chino two weeks before you started sleeping in her bed. The couch was lumpy, and your left arm was starting to go numb from sleeping on it all night. Eva finally caved to Theresa's pressure, but only on the condition that the door was left open. Theresa agrees, but it didn't really matter, Eva slept like the dead. Many nights of sneaking through windows and later brazenly walking through the front door had confirmed the fact years ago. It made Eva happy though, and so you gave in, pretending to be reluctant.

You had stripped down to your boxers by the time Theresa came into her room to dress for bed. You paused awkwardly for a moment, and then Theresa began to undress as well. It was humid outside, and the only air was coming from an old desk fan lazily oscillating on it's base.

After peeling off her t-shirt, Theresa held it to her chest and looked at your hooded eyes. You bypassed the bed and walked to her side. You took the shirt away from her chest but didn't look down. You stared straight into her eyes, until her face smoothed out, and the uncomfortable look was gone. She thought to herself, why am I this way? This was the same boy, who puked all over her new white dress at her Quinceanera.

You unhooked her bra, as she unbuttoned her pants, and you walked over to her dresser and brought out a nightgown. She lifted her hands over her head as you pulled the gown over her arms and let the gown flutter down her body. Theresa fished pulling of her jeans and tossed them into the hamper, and you embraced her.

You could feel the slight bump poking into your stomach, and wondered. Taking her hand, you led her to the bed and you both sat down, staring straight ahead.

"What does it feel like," You finally said, breaking the quiet, and turning to look at her. "Being pregnant."

"It's hard to describe," Theresa began, but tried to elaborate at your crestfallen expression. "It's like my body isn't my own. I feel sick at night, but I don't throw up. I think I'm getting stretch marks. I really want a cigarette. My ankles are swelling, and my boobs hurt."

You smiled, and shook your head.

"Not that I'm not interested in your boobs, but thats not what I meant. What does it feel like to have a baby floating around inside of you?"

Theresa sighed and laid her head on your shoulder. She brought your still joined hands to her stomach and pressed your palm flat on the slight curve.

"It's amazing, Ryan. I know you want more, but how can I explain? I feel something fluttering around in my stomach, and it's supposed to be a baby in six months. A person. Someone with feelings, and a brain. It's overwhelming, and wonderful. It's a miracle."

Theresa finished and felt you pull your hand from her grasp and lift her face to yours.

"Thank you."

You pushed a sweaty lock of hair off her face and kissed her forhead. Standing up you gently nudged Theresa into a lying position and covered her with the sheet. Then you walked over to the other side of the bed and slid in. You both laid there for a moment. The lamp still on and not touching. Then the door opened and Eva poked her head through.

"Goodnight." she said softly. She opened the door a little wider and then disappeared back out of the room.

You reached for Theresa's hand, and turned off the light.

"Goodnight, Theresa," You said, finding her hand in the dark.

"Goodnight, Ryan," She replied, clutching your hand.

Theresa was your summer.


	2. autumn

1

Title: Seasons

rating:pg:13

Summary: Women are like the seasons, always changing and never still. A 4 part series of vignettes where Ryan thinks about some of the women in his life. Second person narrative

A.N. written during early season 2, so it's kind of dated.

chapter two: Autumn

Marissa is like the leaves in fall. Brittle, fragile, fading, and when the rain comes limp and clinging. Nothing ever went the way she wanted. Never ever turned out the way she had planned. Like you and her.

She was like the hot chocolate Theresa's mom would fix you when you came to their house. It would look so good and rich, and you couldn't wait to feel it, warm and smooth, going down your throat. She would always remind you to blow on it first, but you never could wait, and you would burn your tongue on the cheap, watered down chocolate. A bitter taste would be left in your mouth for days.

She never means to hurt you, Never means to disappoint, take you for granted, but somehow she always manages to do just that. Time after time you have tried to get out of this farce of a relationship, but you always end up the white knight.

You come to her house one night. She is living with her dad and he is out at the bar. You are lonely, and she is welcoming. You lay on her bed and make out. You put your hand underneath her shirt and rub it down her back. You can feel every rib prominently through her skin, and you push your hand hurriedly down to her jean clad waist.

Her mouth tastes like sour liquor and stale cigarettes, and you can't help but remember your mother carried the same scent. You pull away to breathe, and see the tears. Big fat droplets of clear moisture dripping from the corners of her eyes. You quickly pull away, scared you had done something wrong. Her face is white, and pulled taught over her cheekbones.

She runs into the kitchen, and you trail behind her. You watch as she swallows an unidentifiable pill and washes it down with a handful of water from the kitchen sink. She pulls her hair back from her neck, and you see her long spindly fingers.

She turns and looks at you. Her eyes pleading.

"What's wrong with me?" she desperately asks.

You don't answer. You pick up your coat and leave. You don't speak of it.

Marissa is your fall.


	3. winter

Title: Seasons

rating:pg:13

Summary: Women are like the seasons, always changing and never still. A 4 part series of vignettes where Ryan thinks about some of the women in his life. Second person narrative

A.N. written during early season 2, so it's kind of dated.

Chapter three: Winter

Dawn was like the winter sun, slow to rise and quick to leave, but still so very welcome from the cold. She's like the first car you ever had. You had saved up for months, and finally scraped enough to buy something. It was a piece of shit '78 Mercury Topaz, that barely ran and was covered with rust. You could never predict when it would start, or if it would just die on you the moment you got on the road. It was yours though. It may not have been much, but it was all you had . You almost cried when Trey took it for a spin and came back without it.

Dawn loved you. She really did. When you were sick she would make you soup on the hot plate. When you would get into fights, she would scold you while she cleaned you up. The next day she might get drunk and slap you. She loved you though. She had to.

It was your first Christmas without your dad. Dawn promised it would be the best one you'd ever had. She bought a little three foot tree and some candy canes. You spent all night watching her drink beer and string twine through popcorn. You and Trey used the paper ornaments you made in class to decorate the tree. The power was shut off the day before, and you were working by candlelight. It was almost better that way. Your mom wrapped the popcorn garland around the tree, and you watched her slide two present behind it.

You were too excited to sleep most of the night. You watched first your mom, and then Trey head off to bed. You blew out all the candles and laid down under the tree. You fell asleep with no blanket, no pillow, and a smile on your face. You felt like the luckiest kid in the world. It was like you had a real family for the first time since dad left.

The next morning you and Trey opened the two presents behind the tree. Trey left to find Arturo after your Christmas breakfast of cereal. You went into your mom's room to thank her for the present. She was passed out on top of the covers with her clothes from the night before still on. There was a white lumpy substance on her lips and clothes. Checking on the floor confirmed she'd thrown up during the night. You think about crying, Christmas was over, and reality was back, but you didn't. You went into the bathroom and grabbed a towel and a wet washcloth. Dawn didn't wake up as you gently cleaned off her face and clothes with the cloth, and the mess on the floor with the towel. You took the Spiderman blanket off your bed and put it on top of her prone body. She mumbled and woke up a little. She saw the dirty towels and looked like she was gonna cry. When she saw you, she pulled herself together and smiled at you

"You're a good boy, Ryan." she said. She snuggled up to your blanket and passed out again. Then you cried.

She loved you. She loves you. She has to.

Dawn is your winter.


	4. Spring

Title: Seasons  
rating:pg:13  
Summary: Women are like the seasons, always changing and never still. A 4 part series of vignettes where Ryan thinks about some of the women in his life. Second person narrative  
A.N. written during early season 2, so it's kind of dated.

Chapter 4: Spring

Kirsten is like a spring blooming flower, all soft around the edges and fragile, but strong enough to withstand the wind. Her smile is like the shy sun peaking through the clouds on rainy spring days. She makes you feel like the teenager you were supposed to be..

It took you months to be comfortable enough with Cohens to use their kitchen for actual cooking. You were afraid you'd mess up the state of the art pots and pans or scorch the shiny stove. After you burned down Kirsten's model home, it didn't seem like a good idea to tempt fate in the Cohen's actual house. Besides, you liked Captain Crunch.

Kirsten isn't anywhere near adept in the kitchen. You hear more jokes about her cooking than jokes about Sandy's eyebrows. You've noticed a fire extinguisher next to the stove. When Seth saw where you were looking, he assured you it works, because they've had to use it, with a nod in his mother's direction.

Kirsten always seems casual with ribbing, playfully joining in and deflecting the attention to someone else. Her eyes, though, they become dull, and you know she is upset at what she considers a failure. So you help change the subject, and all is forgotten.

You think the house is empty when you sneak inside the house for a coke. You are staring at your shoes as you open the door. That's why you don't notice Kirsten until she spots you.

"Ryan."

You jump in surprise, and then settle as you realize it's Kirsten.

"Hi Kirsten," you say politely.

She smiles as you begin to fidget in her presence. She wearing a full length white apron, stained with use and food. Her hair is pulled in a loose bun, with sweaty tendrils framing her face. It's then you realize how warm it is inside the kitchen. Then you see the mess.

Spatulas, wooden spoons, a colander, an empty brownie mix box, and a pan of burnt brownies litter the counter. There is a splattering of a thick white substance over the stove, that upon closer inspection, seems to be dough. There are pots with caked sauce resting haphazardly in the sink, and an open box of spaghetti noodles spilling unto the floor.

"I was trying to cook." Kirsten says after you finish ogling the disaster the kitchen was in. She is wearing a self effacing grin, ready for a quick quip about her latest kitchen disaster.

You take a minute to assess the situation. There seems to be enough noodles left for a serving of three or four people. You know there are a couple of cans of tomato sauce in the pantry, and you've noticed before that there are spices laying around, even if they are used for decoration. Opening the refrigerator, you see butter and cheese. You look up to see a confused Kirsten seconds away from tears.

You roll up your sleeves.

"Let's make dinner."

Later, after the meal has been eaten, dishes put in the sink, and counters cleaned off, Kirsten knocks on your door. After you let her in, she gives you a big, if not awkward hug.

"Thanks." She says, with glistening eyes.

You shake your head, and let a small grin slip out.

"It was nothing." You reply.

She smiles back, and turns to leave.

"Ryan,"she pauses, "Tomorrow, would you, maybe, like to help me cook again?"

Your face shines with pride, and you nod. She smiles at you again, and leaves, closing the door behind her.

Kirsten is your new beginning. Your spring.

A.N. 2 : I rewrote this a couple of times, and during the process I lost the notebooks which held the stories. So I had to rewrite this vignette from scratch. It is a little different from the others, since I wrote it six months after the others. I hope it conveys the same sentiments. I wanted to show the metamorphosis Ryan went through his first year with the Cohens. Hopefully, some of that came through. Anyways, though belated, I finally finished, and that is something to be proud of. :) Happy reading!


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